Among Dead Friends
by Cyseria
Summary: Somehow, all of Tsuna's friends turned out to be zombies. Somehow. Or: in which the phrase 'Dying Will' is taken too literally and Tsuna realizes he should have stopped trying to make sense of the world years ago. 5YL!verse. Kinda Crack-ish. Oneshot.


Summary: Somehow, all of Tsuna's friends turned out to be zombies. _Somehow._ Or: in which the phrase 'Dying Will' is taken too literally and Tsuna realizes he should have stopped trying to make sense of the world years ago. 5YL!verse. Kinda Crack-ish. Oneshot.

 **Among Dead Friends**

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. .

* * *

Tsuna stared. Then he blinked.

He hoped the severed arm laying on the ground had been a hallucination brought on by the exhaustion he felt while sparring with Takeshi, but—he blinked _again_ —nope. It was real. Although Tsuna wouldn't have been surprised if his sanity _did_ break at some point in the past few years since learning of the Mafia, he wasn't imagining it.

Tsuna's eyes drifted to the empty space at Takeshi's left side where his arm should have been. Takeshi appeared to be too calm about the whole situation and Tsuna didn't know what to do next. Why wasn't Takeshi rushing to get medical attention? Shouldn't he be in pain? Shouldn't he be _bleeding out_? Takeshi raised a hand and awkwardly scratched the back of his head. A sheepish smile stretched at his lips and, frankly, it alarmed Tsuna that he wasn't screaming or panicking instead. If Tsuna's arm had been ripped off and was laying on the ground in front of him, he would make more of a fuss than just self-consciously staring at it.

Well, since Takeshi seemed to think having his arm ripped off was a semi-normal occurrence, Tsuna might as well broach the topic.

"Erm…Takeshi, that's your arm on the ground, right?"

Takeshi shifted on his feet. "Yes?" It sounded more like a hesitant question than a statement.

Tsuna glanced down at the arm again. At some point dark blood began to ooze from it. "…I'm going to get a Sun Healer."

A short laugh burst from Takeshi's lips as he finally bent down to pick up his arm. Sharp brown eyes examined the unattached appendage. "No, you don't need to do that. I have a sewing kit in my room, so I should be able to sew it back on." He inspected the newly exposed tissue and gave a thoughtful hum. Singed threads hung from the lumpy muscle. "I think your flames burned through the previous stitches and that's why it fell off again."

 _Again?_

A note of hysteria crept into Tsuna's voice. "Wait, this happened before!?"

Takeshi shrugged. "Yeah. The last mission had a few…complications. Good thing I thought to bring my spare sewing kit with. It's not the first time that happened, though. A few years ago, I messed up one of my stances and lodged my sword pretty deep into my forearm. At first it hurt…then it didn't. Eventually tou-san found me and stitched my arm together."

"Shouldn't you have bled out?"

"I thought so, too—" Takeshi started waving his detached arm around. Tsuna watched it limply flop in the air. "—but the only thing that came out of the wound was this thick black sludge. Tou-san didn't look alarmed, so I decided not to worry about it."

He _decided not to worry about it!?_

If the whole situation wasn't so distressing, Tsuna would walked away to save his sanity. From what he remembered during his time at school, Tsuna knew humans bled _red_ blood and, if the wound was deep, like Takeshi implied, he should have _bled out and died._ Although he felt grateful for his friend's lack of…erm…death, Tsuna knew something wasn't right.

"Takeshi, bleeding black sludge _isn't_ normal," Tsuna stressed.

Takeshi, his Rain Guardian and newest source of future headaches and sleepless nights, just laughed. "It's fine. All I have to do is stitch the arm back on and it'll be good as new in a week."

"But—"

Takeshi dismissively waved the detached arm at Tsuna. "It's _fine_. We don't need to distract the Sun Healers with something so simple, especially since they're still healing agents from the recent mission."

" _Takeshi—_ "

Tsuna received a bright smile and amused laughter in return. "I need to sew the arm back on before it starts getting stiff. I'll see you at the meeting later."

"Wait—"

The Rain Guardian waved his unattached arm in the air in farewell. "Ja ne!"

Tsuna watched helplessly as Takeshi strolled to the door, detached arm in hand, and left. The last few minutes made absolutely no sense and Tsuna, staring at the closed door as if it held the answers to the universe, struggled to comprehend what just happened. It felt as if the floor pulled itself out from under his feet and slapped him upside the head.

While Tsuna attempted to rearrange his perception of the world back into a way that made sense, there was one thought he could wholeheartedly agree with—

Watching his one-armed Rain Guardian waving his own severed arm around was something Tsuna _never_ wanted to see again.

* * *

After almost a week of sleepless nights, Reborn finally decided to confront Tsuna about the dark bags shadowing his eyes.

"Dame-Tsuna, sleep is essential to a Boss's productivity. We can't have you skipping out on paperwork or lazing about. What kind of example are you setting for your subordinates if they see you slacking off?"

Images of a one-armed Takeshi flooded his mind, and Tsuna's head hit his beautifully polished desk with a sob.

Reborn slapped the back of Tsuna's fluffy head. "Vongola Bosses don't cry. Or mope."

One tired brown eye glared at Reborn. "Takeshi's arm fell off. It oozed some black gunk." Tsuna made a small noise of distress and burrowed his face back into his arm. "Reborn, that's _not normal_!"

Out of all the reactions Tsuna expected, Reborn raising an eyebrow and staring at him like he said something stupid was not one of them. As the silence stretched and Reborn continued to stare, Tsuna fought the urge to curl up in a ball and hide under his desk. This was his office, dang it! He would not be cowed by, admittedly, the scariest man in the world _in his own office_.

"Dame-Tsuna, expelling 'black sludge'", Reborn made mocking air quotes, "is normal in the Mafia. When one contains an exceptionally strong Dying Will, the determination to escape death saturates one's bones, cells, and muscles, altering the physical makeup of one's body. In the Mafia, this phenomenon is quite common and is the mark of a true Mafioso."

"So, Takeshi just has really strong Dying Will Flames?"

"Yes."

"But what about those who aren't in the Mafia but have a strong enough Dying Will? Does it happen to them, too? I've heard of cases in the past where civilians manifest Flames, but have no prior involvement in the Mafia."

"Where do you think the civilians got the idea of zombies from?" Reborn smiled and Tsuna found it one of the most disturbing things he had ever seen, considering his former tutor's next words, "it's unfortunate, though, that most of them end up being hunted down, burned alive, shot, eviscerated, impaled, and in one remarkable case, slathered with infants' blood and used as an offering to a pagan god."

Dear kami, Tsuna did _not_ need to hear that. Suddenly, a disconcerting thought wormed its way into Tsuna's mind and, no matter how hard he tried ignoring it, he couldn't resist asking.

"Wait, Reborn, since you were an Arcobaleno, does this mean you bleed black sludge, too?"

Reborn pressed Leon, now in the form of a knife, against his arm. "Would you like to find out?"

Alarms blared in Tsuna's head and he jackknifed into a sitting position. His back cracked at the sudden movement. "No, no, that's okay. You don't need to do that. I don't need to know, really. If Takeshi has strong enough Flames to bleed sludge, I'm pretty sure you do too…"

Memories of Takeshi's detached arm filled Tsuna's mind and he felt nauseous all over again.

Some of the nausea must have shown on his face because Reborn's dark eyes narrowed and a frown tugged on his lips. He settled Leon, now a chameleon, back on his fedora. "Does not having red blood unsettle you?"

Tsuna opened his mouth to answer.

"Don't lie," Reborn cut in.

A pause. The answer was barely a whisper, pulled from Tsuna's mouth by the compulsion to obey his former tutor. "Yes."

"Many of your subordinates experience this physiology change, so no matter your feelings, you can't openly show any hint of distress or disgust. Likewise, you can't avoid seeing it and you can't have it affecting your productivity. Tsuna, you're the Boss now, so act like it."

Tsuna flailed his hands, eyes wild, "But, Reborn, it looks weird. _It's unnatural._ "

Reborn turned to walk away, deeming the conversation over, and left Tsuna to stew in his anxiety. "Find a way to deal with it, then."

Taking Reborn's advice, Tsuna later decided to 'deal with it' by attempting to shove his memories of the gunk and his conversation with Reborn to the back of his mind. He could admit it probably wasn't the best way to go about solving the issue, but if it worked, Tsuna didn't care. For good measure, Tsuna also avoided spars, visiting the nurses, the kitchen, the gardens...

...Basically, he holed himself up in his office.

* * *

"What's this I hear about the Vongola Boss being afraid of gore and blood?"

Although Mukuro was a Tenth Generation Mist Guardian alongside Chrome, he generally avoided associating with the Vongola, mainly returning to the mansion to challenge Kyouya to fights or to visit Chrome. He reminded Tsuna of a cat, in all honesty; he went wherever he pleased, made a nuisance of himself, and wandered off when he got bored. It would be too much of a hassle to force Mukuro to stay, anyway. As long as he didn't cause _too_ much damage and traumatize anybody _too_ badly on his rare visits, Tsuna didn't care what he did. He even occasionally helped Chrome on her missions, so Tsuna tentatively counted it as a win.

Tsuna frowned. But, why was _Mukuro_ of all people asking him about gore and blood? Did he somehow hear about the incident with Takeshi's arm? Wait, there's a better question to ask: "What are you doing here?" Mukuro, despite being extremely unpredictable, could be counted on to leave at least a month between each visit to the mansion. Since Mukuro's last visit occurred just over two weeks ago, Tsuna became suspicious.

"Oh? So you don't deny it?"

"No..." Tsuna's denial sounded weak. He cleared his throat and donned a mask of confidence. "I'm not afraid of seeing blood or open wounds."

The smirk on Mukuro's face promised nothing good. "Really? Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I do this—"

Mukuro, without any warning or hesitation, materialized his trident and stabbed himself in the gut. Dark blood stained his shirt and dripped on the carpet.

"It's just a flesh wound, isn't that right, Tsunayoshi?" He stabbed himself again for good measure.

Tsuna valiantly held his vomit. "I think I'm going to be sick."

The office door opened. Hayato stood in the threshold, glasses perched on his nose, and a stack of papers in his arms. "Juudaime, I have the quarterly reports from the..." He looked up. His eyes travelled from Tsuna, pale-faced and hunched over his desk, to Mukuro, trident still lodged in his gut and dripping blood onto the now-soiled carpet.

Hayato's face flushed a particularly bright shade of pink and his fingers twitched. Showing remarkable restraint, he set the paper stack on the floor by the doorframe and let his hands hover around his hips. Tsuna had no doubt there were sticks of dynamite hidden in his pockets and, judging by Hayato's alert posture, he would use them should he feel it necessary.

Tsuna's gaze switched between Hayato's frosty glare and Mukuro's impish smirk. He just hoped it wouldn't be one of _those_ days which ended in chaos, explosions, and exorbitant repair bills.

"Bastard! What are you doing to Juudaime?"

"Oh? I'm not doing anything to him." Mukuro gestured at the trident. "If anything, you should be asking what I'm doing to myself."

"It's fine, Hayato. He was just leaving."

"But, Tsunayoshi, I just got here. It's rude to force someone to leave when they've only just said hello."

"You're not saying hello; you're harassing Juudaime."

"I don't think I'm harassing him. After all, he works with Mafia matters, so seeing this—" Mukuro gestured to his trident again. The lower half of his shirt clung to his torso, completely soaked with blood. A dark pool began to form at his feet and Tsuna despaired at having to replace the carpet again. "—should be nothing new or shocking."

Tsuna felt a headache forming. "Mukuro, why are you here?"

"I figured I could probably report about some rumors I've heard floating through the Underground grapevine. Chrome also keeps me well informed of matters within the Vongola, so I thought returning here would allow me to ascertain the truth of some of the rumors she's told me. So, information and potential amusement, Tsunayoshi, brings me here."

"Great."

"Well, relay your information and then leave," Hayato snapped. His fingers grew twitchier and Tsuna began to fear for his recently renovated office.

"Ouch. So cold, Hayato. One would think you don't like me."

Hayato glared. "Not particularly."

"Okay, Mukuro, what do you have to say?" Tsuna interjected, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Hm?" Mukuro paused. "Oh, I think I've forgotten. Maybe this will help jog my memory." He yanked the trident out of his gut and, with a sickening amount of enthusiasm, stabbed himself again. "Nope." Stab. "Still nothing." Stab. "Not quite." Stab.

Tsuna's head hit the desk with a low _thud_. He ignored Hayato's yelling and the sound of his door slamming against the wall. He ignored the following explosions coming from (thankfully) outside the mansion. He especially ignored Mukuro's chuckles and parting comment of "I believe I remember, now".

When he couldn't hear the commotion anymore, Tsuna raised his head. He took in the giant puddle of black gunk congealing on his carpet, the doors thrown wide open, and the stack of papers tipped over and spilled across the floor.

Tsuna decided to take an hour off and took a nap in his office.

Despite his wishes, Mukuro's laughter haunted Tsuna's nightmares for weeks and Reborn wasn't too pleased to find him asleep at his desk.

Again.

* * *

"...Ryohei, I saw your guts spilled all over the ground. How are you still alive?"

"I am an extremely fast healer!"

* * *

At some point in the past year, Lambo went through a superhero phase. He holed himself up in his room and pored over superhero comics. And then, when he somehow read through _every single comic_ he could get his hands on (something Tsuna didn't believe was possible considering Vongola's wealth and Lambo's propensity to getting whatever he wanted—or, in other words, bribes to make him behave. Then, Tsuna remembered his own fixation on manga and video games when he was a teenager and decided to let the matter slide), Lambo turned his attention to the TV adaptions. For a month, he set aside his usual attire and donned a superhero costume of his own, complete with a cow-print cape. Eventually, Lambo's interest waned and the maids breathed a sigh of relief when he went back to rereading _Tex Willer_.

Biscotti and a cup of espresso in hand, Tsuna stared at the cow-print eyesore across from him. Lambo stood proudly, fists planted on his hips and a cow-print mask covering his face. It looked like the superhero phase made a reappearance.

"Haha! I wield the Lightning Flames. Mortal wounds do not affect me. The grim reaper hates me since I defy death. My enemies bow before my might. I am Lambo the Immortal!"

Tsuna decided to ignore the implications of Lambo's proclamation. He didn't need to know why Lambo thought he was immortal. Instead, he focused on why Lambo's words struck a certain sense of déjà vu. "Skull's not going to be too happy that you want to take his moniker."

"Bah, who cares what he thinks. Lambo the Immortal sounds much cooler than Skull the Immortal. I'd also be a much better superhero than he would."

"But, Skull's not a superhero, he's a stuntman and a member of the Carcassa Famiglia."

"Yeah, which is why I should have the title. Skull is just a member of some third-rate Famiglia and occasionally entertains civilians. I, however, am a superhero, so I need a cool title to match my awesome powers."

"...Okay." Lambo seemed pretty set on being a superhero, so Tsuna decided to change the topic instead of argue. "Any particular reason why you're not at your lessons right now, though?"

Lambo's eyes widened. His face flashed a look of pure panic before he masked it with a grin and false confidence. "Superheroes don't need an education to fight crime and save the day. I've never heard of someone using long division to beat up the enemy; that's what cool powers are for."

"Yes, well," Tsuna thought back to the hype surrounding superhero movies on his recent trip to America, "you've read Iron Man and Batman, right?"

Lambo looked offended, as if Tsuna insinuated the month and a half he spent living, reading, and _breathing_ comics meant nothing. "Of course."

"Wasn't Batman supposed to be a genius? How did he get to be recognized a genius if he never got an education or learned anything? And Iron Man. He was supposed to be this rich inventor, right?"

"Yeah."

"How can he make amazing inventions or his Iron Man suit if he doesn't know the theory behind what he does?"

Lambo "I guess you're right."

A pause stretched between them when Lambo didn't move. Tsuna bit into his biscotti. "Shouldn't you be heading back to your lessons right now?" he prompted.

"Yeah, whatever." Suddenly, green eyes glinted and a gap-toothed grin stretched across Lambo's face. "But, you'll have to catch me first!"

Lambo spun around and ran off, cape fluttering with the movement. Tsuna smiled (corralling Lambo wasn't _his_ problem)—only to spit out his biscotti in shock moments later and wonder how he missed the _knife_ lodged in Lambo's back. How long had _that_ been there? Why hadn't Lambo removed it? _Who attacked Lambo_?!

Then he squinted and examined the thin, curved handle. Wait, that knife looked familiar…

Tsuna frowned.

Wasn't the Varia supposed to arrive later today?

* * *

"Ryohei, you should probably get your leg looked at. I don't think it's meant to hold your weight in that condition, let alone be used in exercising."

"It's fine, Tsuna! Just give it another hour and it'll be as good as new."

* * *

Tsuna jumped when his office door slammed open. Kyouya, with a ripped suit jacket and irritated scowl, stormed in. The expression on his face promised violence and Tsuna, though a little bit terrified, was curious why Kyouya came back in less than pristine condition.

Should he ask?

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. "How did the mission go?"

At this, Kyouya's expression darkened. He glared at Tsuna. "There were some complications, but I took care of the problem."

Complications? Tsuna reexamined Kyouya's jacket. The rips looked like bullet holes and based on their positioning, some of the shots should have been fatal. There were at least two through his lungs, one through his intestines, and one through the right pectoral.

Kyouya must have been _furious_ after getting shot. The mission simply asked for Kyouya to... _persuade..._ the Orso Famiglia to cease its human trafficking activates. Apparently, from the holes littering Kyouya's jacket, they didn't take too kindly to the suggestion. Remembering Kyouya's inclination towards violence and retribution, Tsuna highly doubted the Orso Famiglia existed anymore.

However, it didn't hurt to ask. "What about the Orso Famiglia? Have they agreed to our terms?"

An absolutely bloodthirsty smirk curled on Kyouya's lips. Tsuna shuddered. "I _took care of the problem_." Kyouya whirled around and left as quickly as he came.

Although not the way Tsuna wanted the Orso problem handled, Kyouya's solution was one way to solve it. Then, Tsuna remembered where Kyouya got shot. Whether through blood loss or organ failure, Kyouya should have been dead. Although Tsuna was happy Kyouya seemed well enough to return, those wounds should have put him in critical care like Takeshi...Mukuro...Lambo...

Did _Kyouya_ have an altered physiology, too?

For a brief moment, Tsuna felt a spike of fear pierce his heart—not for himself, but for Kyouya's enemies. Dear kami, the man was already fearsome enough before, but being nigh-unstoppable now? Tsuna shuddered again and thanked the higher powers that Kyouya was allied with the Vongola.

* * *

"Ryohei, that's a pretty deep gouge in your arm. Do you feel okay?"

"I feel extremely good!"

"...Sure."

* * *

When a bullet ripped through Hayato's lungs and the Storm Guardian jumped back into the heat of battle a minute later, Tsuna refused to be surprised anymore.

And, if Tsuna broke into Xanxus's personal wine stash and drank himself into a stupor later that night, nobody said a word. Although, Reborn had several to say the next morning.

* * *

 **So...What if the name 'Dying Will Flames' was taken too literally? Now, the Mafia is infested with pseudo-zombies.**

 **Poor Tsuna.**

 **-Cyseria**


End file.
